Lord of Sin

by Boyd, Heather

  “Gracious!” Portia snatched her hand back and looked up to find Lord Wade staring at her with a feverish light in his eyes. She blushed. “Forgive me.”

  “You could have touched me like that at any time before,” he said with a wry smile. He shook his head, and his eyes lost that new spark. For a moment, she saw pain in his eyes, too, but then he quickly glanced around them. “You might have trouble dancing for a while. Take care of yourself, Portia.”

  He turned away suddenly, weaving through the throng until she couldn’t see him anymore. Portia desperately wished she could call him back.

  “Hello, dearie.”

  Portia spun around in her chair at the sound of Mrs. Lenthall’s voice, blushing furiously to find the woman sitting next to her. She would have seen her touching her nephew.

  “Hello,” Portia choked out.

  Mrs. Lenthall nodded to Portia’s foot. “Took some damage on the battlefield, did you?”

  “It is not broken.”

  Mrs. Lenthall’s expression soured. “Not like a dozen or so hearts around us.”

  Portia glanced around them. The numbers standing about her had thinned but they were indeed her friends—male friends, once considered possible suitors. “You exaggerate.”

  “Perhaps I do. There is really only one truly disappointed heart of note.”

  Portia caught sight of her betrothed across the room between a pair of gentleman’s legs. Montrose appeared to be looking for someone—probably her, she realized. She raised her hand to signal him for help, however, the gentlemen milling between her and the dance floor moved closer together, forming a wall of privacy in front of her and Mrs. Lenthall.

  She looked at their backs in astonishment. “Why are they doing that?”

  “Why do you think?” the older lady huffed. “Still so blind to the truth.”

  “Please,” Portia whispered. “Let’s not quarrel. I want to speak with your nephew tonight if I can find him again, to clear the air.”

  “Indeed you should.” Mrs. Lenthall patted her hand suddenly. “Such a shame about you, after all the trouble we went to on your account. I do what I can for those I love, too.” Mrs. Lenthall stood herself up using a cane for assistance. “Chin up and smile, dearie. It won’t be too bad being married to a stuffed shirt. I liked the fire you had once, girl. Try to remember who you really are before it’s too late.”

  The lady shuffled off…and Portia suddenly felt like crying. People had been acting very strangely toward her since the betrothal was announced when there was no reason. Even though she’d become a duchess on her marriage, she was still the same woman. She laughed, danced and enjoyed the company of other people. But somehow, she had obviously fallen far in Mrs. Lenthalls esteem because of her decision to marry Montrose.

  Another pair of long well-muscled legs stopped in front of her. When she glanced up slowly, she found the Duke of Montrose towering above her. His eyes were cold, and she saw no concern in them, only suspicion. “Miss Hayes, should you not be with your mother by now?”

  “I am on my way there,” she promised quickly. Standing gingerly, she limped a few steps to see if she could manage on her own. Her toes were quite tender. She hoped there would be dancing in her future tonight, because she had promises to keep.

  “Why are you limping,’ he asked suddenly.

  “An accident.”

  Her arm was suddenly grasped tightly, and she was pulled into Montrose’s side. “I’ll have your mother take you home to rest.”

  “I just need a few moments and then I will be right as rain.”

  “I must insist,” he said in a firm tone that demanded immediate compliance with his wishes.

  Portia resented that Montrose acted as if he already had the right to tell her what to do. No one but her parents could do that yet. “I cannot leave. My dance card is full.”

  It wasn’t, but she knew who should ask her to dance. She managed to escape his grip easily enough and returned to her mother unaided.

  Chapter 9

  Despite his best efforts, Julian somehow found himself within arm’s length of Portia Hayes later again that night. He was also much closer to Montrose than he ever wanted to be. The overbearing snob couldn’t help but scowl at anyone who tried to approach Portia.

  Julian turned his back on Portia firmly, although it felt wrong to do so. She’d made her choice, and she had to live with the consequences now. Montrose would drive away all but the most determined of gentlemen.

  He strolled away. He had other friends to talk to. Word had come that Lady Charles had birthed a son, and the new father had run off into the night like a man possessed. Lord Phillips had laughed and then given chase.

  One of his newer acquaintances, Lord Hector Stockwick, strolled in his direction at the side of his friend Lord Clement. Stockwick had been a regular face about London for a few years, but his elevation to viscount after his father’s death had brought him new distinction and funds to spare.

  The Earl of Clement was, to some, the perfect man. Perfectly unavailable most of the year, as he spent most of his time in the country. His appearance here was sure to be fleeting.

  They shook hands. “Was that a new phaeton I saw you driving in today, Stockwick?” Julian asked, doing his best to keep his envy in check. The phaeton had been very fine.

  “Indeed yes. Collected it just yesterday. What do you think of it?”

  “Quite elegant indeed,” Julian promised. “I noticed many admiring it as you drove through the park this afternoon.”

  Stockwick offered a smug smile. “Any ladies among them?”

  “Several, and not all of them with possessive husbands,” Julian noted with a laugh.

  Hector grinned wolfishly. “I have my hands full already, or I would certainly have asked for their directions.”

  Many newly titled gentlemen came to London with money to burn and left again with pockets to let. Lord Stockwick was undoubtedly the poorer for his elevation. His appetite for scandalous women seemed to be matching his spending. Julian smiled anyway. It wasn’t his business to curtail anyone’s pleasure. “Mustn’t exhaust yourself.”

  “Isn’t it a shame,” Stockwick chuckled.

  Lord Clement cleared his throat. “How have you been, Wade?”

  Surviving. “Quite well. And you?”

  “Much the same. Though I’m one sister short now. Ruth married last month.”

  Julian remembered Ruth less than fondly than he probably should admit. She’d been an utter cow to one and all. “Do give her my best, won’t you?”

  Clement nodded.

  Stockwick moved closer. “I say, who is that beauty behind you? My word, what a woman!”

  Julian did not really want to turn around, but cast a glance over his shoulder. Portia was again not far away, and obviously the only woman Stockwick could mean. “Someone out of your league, I’m afraid.”

  “What’s her name?” Julian started shaking his head but Stockwick grinned. “I’ll find out one way or another from someone else if need be. Perhaps she’s lonely.”

  “That is the Duke of Montrose’s betrothed,” he announced, though the words hurt him to say aloud. “Miss Portia Hayes.”

  Hector’s face fell. “Pity. Who’s the other one?”

  Julian looked again and saw Lavinia, Portia’s younger sister, at her side. “Miss Lavinia Hayes.”

  A hungry light appeared in Hector’s eyes. “I’ve always been intrigued by sisters. Care to introduce me?”

  Julian stepped closer to the viscount and lowered his voice. “Look at either one of them in that manner again and you’ll wish we’d never met.”

  Stockwick cast him a sharp look of surprise. “Steady on, man. They’re not yours, are they?”

  “They are friends of mine, and I protect my friends from each other, too. ”

  Stockwick scoffed but after Clement had a word in his ear, he looked away with a disgruntled expression. “Not worth my time then.”

  “No. It’s no
t.”

  Stockwick pursed his lips. “I’m for the card room. Are you keen to try your luck against me?”

  “No. But enjoy yourself. Both of you.”

  Julian watched them leave, temper slowly fading away. He should not have done that. Threatening a peer when he had no right to would make people wonder about him, and Portia or Lavinia.

  Julian turned around to view the room slowly, feeling a sudden sensation that he wasn’t alone anymore.

  Portia Hayes was watching him from not far away, her eyes full of questions and unexpected appreciation.

  Confused, he looked away and studied those dancing before he imagined anything else so ludicrous. The party was winding down but there were still a few dances left to be enjoyed. He could not recall seeing her dance with Lord Montrose yet. That was something of a surprise to him. She dearly loved to dance all night, every dance if she could manage it.

  Her eyes met his again for a moment, and then she tilted her head toward an exit to the room.

  Julian glanced around quickly to see whom she planned to meet with now. However, there seemed not to be anyone paying her the least attention.

  What was she up to?

  Portia suddenly leaned close to her mother and whispered in her ear before she moved away alone. She was leaving the room, without her betrothed or her mother by her side. A rendezvous was definitely underway.

  Her gaze returned to him again—and he realized finally that he was being asked to follow her into the hallway beyond the ballroom. Although the direction she traveled led to the retiring room, he was almost certain she was not going there for the conveniences.

  Julian debated following her for about three of her tiny strides before he turned around to exit the room via another door. To others, he’d appear to be headed for the card room, but of course he’d never bother.

  There was a little hall between the ballroom and the ladies’ retiring room, and she lingered there, glancing out of the shadowed doorway nearest to him.

  He approached slowly, rather alarmed that she was smiling at him.

  Portia darted out and grabbed him by the sleeve before he could get away and tugged him into the deep doorway. “We need to talk, my lord.”

  “Can’t imagine what’s left to discuss,” he insisted, glancing over his shoulder to check for anyone coming. “A future duchess hardly has need of a poor viscount’s conversation.”

  She made a small growl. Something akin to a cornered cat, and he almost laughed. “Are you going to hold that against me forever?”

  “Probably.” He drew back as far as he could and looked her up and down. She was quite literally the most stunning woman here tonight. Her mane of dark hair was dressed in ribbons that struggled to contain it. He lowered his eyes to her pert breasts, barely contained in another water-damped white silk gown, and grinned. “That’s a pretty dress. I’d like to see you step out of it.”

  “Lord Wade!”

  “As if you didn’t wear such intoxicating creations to torture all gentlemen.” He looked away in disgust. “I suppose your betrothed has feasted already.”

  Portia gasped, blushing a little. “He has not.”

  Wade shook his head. “Poor Portia. Engaged and not yet ravished. Proposed to but not even courted. What is the world coming to?”

  She punched her hands on her hips and glared. “We are not going to talk about Lord Montrose. We are going to talk about us, and that is why you are here.”

  “The tilt of your head seemed to suggest you were again up to something that would likely put you out of favor. I do love a first look at a scandal before the twitters start,” he said with an insincere smile. “But since it appears nothing is going on right now, I will take my leave and return to the ballroom, where there are ladies to admire.”

  He did not truly mean that, but Portia did tend to bring out the worst of his spite right now. He knew he had to leave her to Montrose and his lackluster passions. Julian just couldn’t seem to stop running into her wherever he went. It was his own fault, really, for introducing her to everyone he knew. It was an exhaustive list of people, and he didn’t want to avoid them, too.

  Portia grabbed his arm and dragged him into the adjoining room. The chamber was dimly lit by only a few lamps, but blessedly empty except for a few armchairs and a thick Persian rug spread out before a cold hearth.

  “What a cozy chamber for a bit of give and take between lovers,” he remarked. “Care to sit on my lap and find out if the chair is sturdy enough for a hard ride?”

  Portia whacked his arm. Hard. “This has to stop.”

  Julian snaked his arm around Portia’s waist and pulled her close against him.

  It was time to give her the shock she so richly deserved. He’d protected her from scoundrels for a long time. Now it was time to point out her greatest mistake was in underestimating his nature. “Montrose would not like this little rendezvous you’ve arranged with me. He would be quite put out if he ever learned how often we’ve met privately in the past, too. He has no idea who you are. Wouldn’t you rather a lover who will take the time to please you?”

  She seemed to sag against him. “Stop talking like that.”

  “Why? I’m just being myself. You know me better than anyone. I say what’s on my mind and always will.” He dusted light kisses around her temple. “You should have brought your betrothed to this room instead of me. He’d have had you on your back and been done in about the count of three. Quite unsatisfactory for you, I should think. I always imagined you’d be a handful in bed. Care to prove me right?”

  “Nothing has ever happened between us.” She wriggled but not enough to dislodge him. “Stop trying to distract me.”

  “In what way am I distracting you?” Julian murmured as he lowered his head. He brushed his lips across the shell of her ear briefly before he spoke. “What do you want from me?”

  “For us to be the way we were,” she cried, although her fingers had curled into his waistcoat. “Friends. Confidants.”

  “It’s too late to turn back the clock.” He nuzzled her neck just below her ear, drinking in the scent of her for what might be the very last time he had a chance to. “You cannot prevent the end of our acquaintance, Portia. Montrose dislikes me as much as I do him. It is a long-standing dislike, nothing to do with him marrying you. We can never know more about each other than we do now. When you are his wife, his duchess, he will certainly have a say about who you can flirt with in the future.”

  “Flirt with? Talking is not flirting.”

  Julian spread his fingers across her back and drew her more firmly into his body. “Silly Portia. I’m not talking to you; I’m seducing you right now, and you’re allowing me to,” he whispered softly against her skin. “I have wanted you like this for so long.”

  “What?!”

  “We’re not friends.”

  Portia pushed at his chest feebly. “Don’t you dare say that again.”

  “Why shouldn’t I, when what I want from you is more than a humble viscount deserves?” He let his lips rest against her throat and softly kissed her there. “You don’t know him like I do. He does not share anything he feels belongs to him.”

  “I don’t belong to him,” she promised. “I will not change, either.”

  Julian ignored her promise and smiled sadly. “One of your most admirable qualities is your ability to do the unexpected. Montrose hasn’t an impulsive bone in his body and will do his best to snuff out your extraordinary sparkle.”

  He caressed her back, holding Portia in his arms as he’d never done before. She fit perfectly against him, so warm, so lovely…and so far out of his reach still.

  “Wade,” she whispered, leaning into him despite the impropriety.

  He released her abruptly and scowled. “Within a year of marriage, you’ll be as dull and submissive as anyone who moves in his circle. And bored. You’ll take lovers just to get the attention you crave, but he’ll never try to win you back. He’s not capable of loving any
one but himself. Everything I’ve admired about you will be gone by the time you realize I was right all along. Enjoy your time in London, Portia, while you still have a little freedom left to be yourself. If you ever find yourself a widow, we’ll talk again then. If I’m still available.”

  Portia followed him. “He won’t change me. He won’t change my life.”

  “He already has,” Julian murmured. She was fooling herself that it hadn’t already started. The spark of mischief in her eyes had already dimmed whenever Montrose was near her. Gentlemen had been warned off already. It was surprising that Montrose didn’t consider him any real threat, but he might if Portia kept chasing him. “Marriage changes everyone but the degree depends on the spouse. Excuse me. I have no wish to face your betrothed at dawn over a misunderstanding.”

  Portia grabbed his arm and held him back. “He wouldn’t dare.”

  “Some would say he’s within his rights even now. Look, there’s still that sturdy-looking chair over there, big enough for two if you really want us to compete for the pleasure of your company. I could easily sit you down on my lap and,” he leaned closer, allowing the heat of his breath to tease her ear lobe, “we could talk about why you really want me to stay with you. I don’t think it’s my outstanding conversational skills that interest you anymore.”

  He removed her hand from his coat and pressed a lingering kiss to the back of her fingers, and then turned her hand over to kiss her slender wrist.

  Portia gasped aloud at his touch, and a rush of unwanted desire rushed through his entire body as she trembled. But he was trying to provoke her, not torture himself. He straightened slowly and looked into her familiar eyes, but tonight they were dazed by an unexpected emotion—lust. An expression she’d always reserved for other men before.

  “Wade?”

  He brushed his fingertips across her cheek. He had to go. “You are perfect as you are. Don’t marry Montrose unless his touch excites you at least this much.”

  He stepped back from her just as the door burst open.

  Two figures entered the room and then closed the door again. Lord and Lady Windermere smiled, and Julian cursed under his breath.