“Darling Wade, there you are at last!” Lady Windermere cried.
“Windermere. Lady Windermere.” Julian’s voice was rough as he answered, and he cleared his throat. “Good evening to you.”
At his side, Portia dipped into a curtsy for the earl and his wife.
Julian stepped in front of her slightly. “Do you want the room?”
“No. No.” Lord Windermere and his wife came closer, neither one glancing at Portia. “But I wanted to ask if you wouldn’t mind doing me a favor. Well my wife, really.”
“How can I help?”
“Would you at all mind escorting my wife home tonight?”
“Of course I can escort your lady all the way home,” Wade promised quickly. “It would be my pleasure.”
“Thank you,” Windermere said, and then turned to his wife. They kissed goodbye, and Julian heard Windermere whisper a warning to his wife. “Keep our friend out of trouble. He’s not thinking clearly.”
Lady Windermere laughed. “Trust me, darling. I know which scandal must be spread about tonight.”
She turned to study Portia, her expression amused, as her husband rushed from the room. Julian prayed she’d not cause trouble.
“Do excuse the interruption of your fascinating discussion, but time really is of the essence.” She glanced between them, a smile growing on her face. “Now, quickly, what shall we say we talked about tonight when asked about this meeting tomorrow?”
Portia frowned at Lady Windermere. “I don’t understand.”
“My dear girl, you know full well that we must create a story to explain why you left the ballroom to rendezvous here. Lord Wade cannot be connected with you, too. Not tonight.”
Julian moved toward Lady Windermere and held out his arm for the countess to take. “She would never do anything that scandalous with me.”
Lady Windermere laughed wickedly. “It looks like a tryst to me, and it will to others, too. How is my husband to win a wager if people have doubts?”
“We were disagreeing,” Portia explained unnecessarily.
“Yes, I heard all about it. Your voices carried out into the hall. Have you not heard of lowering your voices or discretion? Anyone else walking past would have assumed it was a lovers’ tiff and reported every word back to Montrose. I thought better of you, Wade, to be the cause of scandal rather than preventing them.”
Portia stepped closer to Julian and rested her hand lightly on his back. “Meeting here was entirely my doing. He didn’t want to stay beyond a moment.”
Lady Windermere laughed heartily at that lie. “He would have kept you in that chair or on that rug by the hearth all night if he’d had his wicked way.”
“That is not true,” Julian protested as he looked at Portia again more closely. Yes, her feet had seemed to be welded to the floor the moment he’d drawn her into his arms. She usually reveled in the attention of scoundrels, and from him now, too, apparently. He had not expected that reaction at all, really. He’d thought his behavior would have driven her away but she really was defending him. “Our paths crossed quite by chance.”
“A pretty pair of liars you both are, but no matter. I reserve the right to be as indelicate as I want since I discovered you here alone together. This is not well done of either of you. What about your betrothed, Miss Hayes? Shouldn’t you be luring him off to dark corners instead of our dear friend Lord Wade?”
Julian shrugged. As far as he knew, Portia hadn’t lured Montrose anywhere yet. But he had stopped watching Portia these past few days. The duke seemed entirely too wrapped up in his own consequence and rendezvous were hardly needed, now Portia was promised to him.
“Please don’t tell Montrose,” Portia begged, and then winced, no doubt imagining the trouble she’d be in if Montrose did find out.
Julian almost wanted that to happen. Almost but not quite. Montrose had a formidable temper. “It will not happen again,” he promised, turning away from them both.
Lady Windermere clucked her tongue. “Perhaps it will. If it does, I expect you to do the right thing.”
“Nothing happened, and don’t you dare infer it will,” Julian warned, turning back. “It’s done. She’s marrying Montrose.”
“You’re counting? Good.” Lady Windermere nodded slowly, a smirk on her face. “Oh, I suppose you were right to back away now, but I was so looking forward to Christmas.”
Portia’s eyes lit up. “Oh?”
“We are all headed to the Duke of Exeter’s country estate. Daventry and his wife were going to be there early, Wade and his aunt. Sorenson, too, since he married my husband’s cousin, Anna. Our whole set haven’t gathered together for a very long time. It should be great fun, and I so hoped you could be there with us.”
Portia looked at him accusingly. “I didn’t know you were going away.”
Julian nodded. “My aunt and I thought we might leave London soon. There’s not much to hold us here, now that my brother has joined the army. The Duke of Exeter’s Christmas Party cannot be missed but its later in the year, we might travel before and that will hopefully distract my aunt from melancholy.”
“It will not be Christmas without you,” Portia protested.
“Unfortunately, the Duke of Montrose would never be invited to the Duke of Exeter’s estate.” Lady Windermere sighed deeply. “I am sorry you will have to miss it, my dear.”
“So am I, my lady. Perhaps you’ll come to us at Sherringford another year?”
“We’ll see,” Lady Windermere murmured, though she didn’t sound enthusiastic.
Portia’s face grew pale.
“I tried to warn you,” Julian murmured softly. He held out his arm to Lady Windermere again and drew her toward the door. “Shall I escort you home now, my dear lady? I doubt there’s anything left to be said.”
“A dance first, if you don’t mind.” The countess smiled. “There are also a few young ladies new to Town we should talk about. You need a wife soon, too.”
“Matchmaking?”
“It passes the time,” Lady Windermere confirmed. “Besides, I am determined to see you as happily wed as I am.”
Julian cast a quick glance at Portia to see if she cared. Aside from wearing a puzzled expression, he sensed no distress in her face. He turned back to the countess. “I was hoping you’d forgotten all about my bachelor status.”
“Never. You must have a bride before Christmas. I can think of nothing better for you.”
“But he’s always acted as if marriage was the last thing on his mind,” Portia said suddenly.
“There was a good reason to delay,” he said with a shrug, without looking at her. “That reason no longer exists.”
“I don’t understand.”
“No, it’s clear that you never did,” Julian agreed. Portia Hayes must have never known the depths of his adoration.
“Miss Hayes, would you care to walk with us?” Lady Windermere asked her suddenly.
Portia seemed troubled and shook her head. “No, thank you.” Her voice was small, and Julian felt torn to leave her behind.
Lady Windermere, however, smiled widely. “Very well. Please allow us to leave the room first. Wade will cough if the hall is clear.”
Julian agreed. “We wouldn’t want Lord Montrose to misunderstand where you’ve been all this time.”
“No,” Portia said firmly before Julian swept the countess from the room. But he hated leaving her there. Who knew what trouble she would get into next.
Chapter 10
Portia spun around as a floorboard behind her creaked unexpectedly. Seeing no one creeping up on her, she returned to poring over a boxful of sheet music she’d just discovered under Uncle Oliver’s guest bedchamber bed. The house usually made all sorts of odd noises and Portia usually ignored them. Today she was jumping at every sound.
She’d been here since dawn, after enduring a restless night where she’d been trapped in a room with Lord Wade while Lord Montrose pounded on the door. She’d woken in a sweat and
twisted sheets. What disturbed her the most was not her fear, but the fact she’d not felt any. Lord Wade’s arm had been around her and his lips had caressed her throat in a way that made her pulse race even now.
It was a disturbing dream to have so close to being married.
Resolved to put the troubling dream firmly behind her, she’d gathered up her maid and come here to sort through more of her uncle’s possessions. She was squeezed tight between two sea chests she couldn’t find keys to open. Portia did not even find the cramped confines of Uncle Oliver’s old dwelling at all restricting or embarrassing. Her uncle had taken a lifetime to accumulate it all, and it might just take all of hers to see it all, too.
She blew back a lock of fallen hair, frustrated she could not seem to keep it contained by her ribbons and pins today. Her hair was getting in her way of having a good time.
And then Portia froze as a door suddenly shut somewhere in the house—beneath her.
She cocked her head, listening to heavy footfalls on the stairs, moving up from the bowels of the house. She considered calling out but then remembered no one at home knew to find her here except her maid, and it was far too soon for her to return from the errand she’d been sent off on.
Nervously, with one eye on her door, Portia reached blindly for the nearest heavy object, ready to hurl it at the intruder and defend herself with it if necessary. Her fingers curled around an old pistol, but she knew it was not loaded or truly that dangerous. Regardless, she raised it aloft, held it by the barrel, and inched toward the door as gently as she could so the floorboards didn’t creak beneath her feet. The handle was made of ivory and should make enough of a dent in whoever-it-was’ head to give them a reason to run away from her.
Portia placed her hand on the door handle when she heard footsteps stop just outside the room she was in. Definitely not her maid, who would have called out long before now.
Portia gripped the pistol tighter and jerked open the door—only to be very surprised.
“Wade!”
“Portia!” Wade clutched at his chest, his brow scrunching as he pointed at her raised hand. “What the devil were you going to do with that thing?”
Portia lowered the pistol immediately. “You surprised me. What are you doing here?”
Wade licked his lips, a sure sign of nervousness. “I have a good reason.”
“You had better.” She tossed the weapon back onto the dresser and stepped out into the hall with him. In truth, she was very glad to see Wade here again, because she’d started to feel very lonely in this big empty house. Wade had been just as intrigued by her uncle’s collection as she was, and she hoped he might stay awhile. They had much to talk about.
First of all, she wanted to know when he’d decided that marriage might not be as bad as he’d always claimed. That was quite a big step for him, and one that troubled her. He shouldn’t rush into anything. But then, as she looked at him closely, and longed to fetch a comb for his shaggy hair, she thought a wife might be good for him. He also needed a better valet and a decent haircut. “I do hope you intend to be a gentleman today.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. “I might give it a try.”
“Try very hard, my lord, or there’s always that pistol.” She didn’t want to hurt him. “You used the spare key.”
“Yes,” he said as he leaned closer. “You’re not angry that I did, are you?”
“Why would I be angry? It’s not the first time you’ve arrived unannounced.” She looked him over from head to toe. He needed a better suit, one that fit him. His current attire seemed unnecessarily unfitted. “At least this time I don’t have an injury to tend.”
The first time Lord Wade had called at this house, he’d broken a window and cut his hand. “No.” Wade flexed his fingers on the railing he gripped.
She stared at his gloved hand and thought of the skin beneath. “I’ve been meaning to ask about your hand. Did the wound heal? Is there a scar?”
“Yes and yes.”
“Show me,” she asked impulsively.
Although his brow rose at her request, he tugged off a glove and presented his hand for her to inspect. “See, all better.”
“It was the other one, Lord Wade.”
He huffed slightly and showed her the other, too.
There was a faint red line, but it had healed very nicely. She ran the tip of her finger across the scar, feeling only the slightest hint of unevenness. “I’m glad it wasn’t deeper.”
“Are you always this familiar with your friends?”
Portia grinned. He’d called himself her friend, and that made her happy. “I might be.”
He laughed softly as he tugged his gloves back on. “I’m fine, Portia. Another month or so and there will be nothing left to see.”
“But I’ll remember.”
“No doubt you will be too busy to mention it again,” he said, and then looked away. “I suppose I should explain why I am here without asking permission to come first.”
“You are always welcome to call on me anywhere, but tell me what has brought you back here today?”
“Your uncle was an eccentric collector of a great many things.”
She nodded. “Indeed. I’m always surprised.”
He gnawed on his lip a moment. “I was hoping you might let me take a look at one item of his, if it is still here. If it’s not too much to ask.”
Portia couldn’t be more surprised. “Do you want something belonging to my uncle?”
“It was not his in the first place.” He gestured to the stairs. “Perhaps we might sit if you don’t mind the dust on the stairs while I explain.”
“The stairs are probably the cleanest part of the house. The whole house really is in need of a thorough airing.” She moved to sit and Wade perched at her side. “Tell me what it is that you want?”
“I cannot say what it is.”
She leaned close to him. “Then how can I agree when you won’t tell me?”
“You mistake me. I know exactly what I’m searching for and where it might be, but I cannot tell you what it is because it is rather risqué. You’d undoubtedly be shocked.”
Well, that was a fair reason not to tell her. “Are you certain it’s in this house?”
“I think I saw the item last in Oliver’s bedchamber when you were in hiding here last month, but I wanted to check to be sure first. Do you remember how shocked you were by the correspondence you read in Uncle Oliver’s study?”
“Oh, well, you may certainly take his letters.”
“The item was put under another lot of letters I discovered up here in his room.”
Portia frowned. “Ah, well if you cannot tell me what it is, then surely you can say why you need it.”
“I’d be happy to.” He twisted around, to face Portia. “There’s an old wager in the White’s betting book I want to help settle. My friend Sullivan has always been intrigued by the foolishness written there, and as we were flicking through the pages recently, we uncovered a clue about one of the oldest wagers. Suffice to say, I found out your uncle was intimately involved in the matter before his death—the day before, actually—and I believe he has the item wagered upon still hidden in this house.”
“Then go and fetch it!” Portia cried, immediately caught up in the hunt for treasure. “I’ll come along and help you if you like.”
He shook his head violently. “I do not want to offend your delicate sensibilities.”
“This is my house. Come on, I’ve read enough sheet music here to last a lifetime.”
She caught his hand and pulled him with her along the hall to her uncle’s old bedchamber. Lord Wade looked around as they went. “You haven’t gotten very far since I was here last.”
“It’s slower now that it’s just me.”
Wade stopped abruptly at the doorway, and then strode into Uncle Oliver’s bedchamber to peer closely at the scandalous painting Portia had found recently. “Have I seen this before?”
; Portia settled against the doorframe. “I don’t think so. It’s quite old, actually. I found it hidden behind a large cupboard in the drawing room. Mother took one look at it and fainted. Father had to catch her. I like to imagine the lady was important to my uncle. Why else would he keep it?”
“There could be many reasons. Have you found anything else like it?”
“Not so far. Why?”
He ran his finger over the artist’s inscription at the bottom left corner. “It’s remarkably good and probably quite valuable. There could be more around.”
For a moment, she wondered if he was about to volunteer to help her search, but then he shook his head. Having him here without his aunt as a chaperone was not a good idea for her reputation, should anyone learn of it. But he had been vastly helpful in the past. She would give anything to have his help again if she could.
Wade shook his head again and moved away from it, glancing over his shoulder a time or two to check where she was standing. Portia remained by the door, watching him move objects out of his way until he finally pulled a box from beneath the head of the narrow bed and placed it beside the pillow. He put his hands on top of the item, fingers spread. “I put this here so you might never look at the contents.”
Portia nodded. “Well, go on. What are you waiting for?”
“Just remember, you asked for this.” He opened the box, lifted out a pile of yellowed old letters, and stared into it. “I’m sure this has to be the one.”
He placed a piece of dark wood on the pillow and returned everything else to the box.
Portia squinted in the dim light. The item was perhaps eight inches long but from the door, she could not be certain what it was. She took a step farther into the room as Wade turned his back and tucked the box away back under the bed.
She leaned across the dusty comforter and picked it up. “It’s a stick.”
Wade choked out when he saw it was in her hands. “Put that down!”
“What would my uncle want with an ugly, lumpy stick?” Portia held it up to the light and turned it slowly. She knew what it was, of course, but had never seen one up close—living or made of wood. “This is not what I was expecting. I thought it may be a jewel or something valuable.”
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