Jo Beverley - [Malloren 02] (27 page)

She pressed her hands to her head, fighting to remember something of last night after she had drifted off to sleep.

Nothing. There was nothing, except that dream of a tall man carrying her, and kissing her brow. Fort. She had dreamed of Fort. But Portia suspected that when Bryght Malloren took off his shoes, he put them neatly side by side beneath the bed.

She shivered at the thought, but held onto sanity. Clearly nothing terrible had happened. Whatever Bryght had been up to—if his presence wasn't all a construct of gin and fear—nothing too terrible had happened.

But she couldn't stay here. She'd never sleep in peace again. She needed refuge, and surely Nerissa Trelyn would offer it.

Two men trotted up the street between the poles of a sedan chair, and put it down so Portia could enter. In moments, she was swaying on her way to Trelyn House.

Chapter 13

The Trelyn mansion boasted a massive pillared portico and was separated from the street by a railed courtyard. Portia suffered some qualms for it seemed the height of presumption to ask to live in such an imposing residence. The chairmen trotted up to the gate in the railings without hesitation, however, and the gatekeeper let them in without so much as asking Portia's business. Her nervousness abated a little. For all its grandeur, this wasn't a royal palace. The men carried her across the neatly swept flagstones and up the wide steps to the massive double doors.

There they lowered the chair and opened the door so she could alight. There was a box here, rather like a sentry box, and a man in it, guarding the portal.

Portia, keeper of the door...

Portia shivered. She must keep Bryght Malloren out of her mind.

This doorkeeper did demand her name and business, but upon hearing it immediately passed her on to a footman inside the house. Portia hesitated long enough to pay her chairmen then entered Trelyn House.

She paused, arrested by the grandeur of the tiled circular entrance hall lined with niches each containing a classical statue. Before her, a pale marble staircase curved gracefully up between white iron banisters, bathed with cold light from a circular window high above. It was perfection but it was hardly welcoming. One nearby anteroom appeared to be full of marble statues of writhing serpents with people in their toils.

In fact, this was more like a classic temple than a home, and it was both silent and very cold. Portia was rapidly losing her nerve at the idea of throwing herself on Nerissa's charity.

She gave the footman her name, quite expecting to be told that Nerissa was not at home. Instead she was taken to a small but perfect reception room. She supposed the name St. Claire must command some respect here.

The reception room had a fire in the grate and the air was not cold, but the effect of the decor was still cool. The walls were covered in silver-gray paper painted with tiny bluebirds. Pale blue silk brocade curtains hung at the narrow window, and the four white chairs were covered in blue and gray striped silk.

Portia did not sit, but paced anxiously. If Nerissa refused her she wasn't sure what to do next. Mrs. Pinney would have to allow her to stay since the rent was paid, but she wouldn't feel safe. What if Bryght Malloren returned?

She reminded herself that she was under the protection of the Earl of Walgrave, hard though it was to think of Fort by that mighty title.

The footman returned. Instead of showing Portia the door into sunlight he led her up the pristine stairs, along an elegant, pale-carpeted corridor, to milady's intimate boudoir.

This room was in complete contrast to the rest of the house. It was an ornate confection of silk draperies and hand-painted wallpaper in shades of pink and cream, all over-heated by a huge fire. Portia didn't have time to take it in, for she was immediately engulfed in a perfumed embrace.

"My dearest cousin! I have been scolding myself for not appointing a sooner meeting, and here you are, hours before expected."

Despite this effusive greeting, Portia gained an impression of guardedness from Nerissa. It was not surprising, but did not augur well. She took the seat indicated on a chaise, and was poured chocolate from a silver pot by Nerissa's own plump, pale hands.

Her hostess was as lushly beautiful as her boudoir. Her shimmering golden hair hung in waves down her back. Her loose undress gown was of cream silk embroidered with roses, and trimmed with deep borders of the finest lace. It rested at the very edge of her shoulders and dipped to expose the swell of her full breasts.

"Now tell me, Portia, why are you calling so early?"

Portia realized with a start that it
was
abnormally early to pay a social call. There was no point in dissembling. "I am in a predicament."

"I guessed it. You must tell me, dearest cousin. I will help if I can." But again, the expression in Nerissa's big brown eyes was at odds with her warm tone. Portia feared that Nerissa would not care to have anyone else's troubles thrust upon her.

"My brother has been called away..." she started.

"And left you here alone?" asked Nerissa in astonishment.

"Yes. It was a matter of some urgency."

"Even so, he should not have left you unprotected. What will you do now?"

It clearly was not leaping to Nerissa's mind that she invite Portia to visit her.

"I don't know."

Nerissa was sipping chocolate, considering Portia with surprising shrewdness. "Do you know many people here in London?"

"No. I'm afraid not."

"But what of Bryght Malloren?"

Portia almost spilled her chocolate. "What do you mean?" Did the whole world know the truth?

"In the park," said Nerissa. "You seemed to know each other so well, then. Many people noted it."

Portia could have wept with relief. She steadied her hands and hoped she could lie convincingly. "He is an acquaintance of my brother's only."

"That surprises me. What could they have in common?"

Portia tired of deception. "Gaming."

"Ah." Nerissa leaned back, but her eyes were sharp. "I think you do not approve."

If Nerissa wanted assurance that Portia was not afflicted with gaming-fever, she could have it. "I loathe gaming. And now, thank heaven, Oliver has seen the error of his ways."

"How fortunate. Many are not so wise. I fear Lord Bryght is a notorious gamester."

"So I understand."

Nerissa picked up a small biscuit and nibbled at it. "But handsome, you must admit."

Portia was assailed by a vision of a naked torso and wild hair. "I suppose he is," she admitted, for to deny it would be ludicrous. "But handsome is as handsome does."

"You must not be so harsh about a man who is a mere acquaintance." But the words were not a reproach. "Why do you dislike him so?"

Portia could not mention her recent grievances, so she turned to older ones. "Lord Bryght encouraged Oliver to play. I'm not sure he didn't tease him on with small winnings so that he would lose more."

Nerissa's brows rose sharply. "But, my dear, you are accusing him of being a hawk!"

"Yes, I suppose I am." But Portia was suddenly puzzled by the fact that it was
Cuthbertson
who had won in the end, not Bryght. Could there be a connection between Bryght and Cuthbertson? It seemed unlikely.

Nerissa was gurgling with laughter. "Please do not call Bryght a hawk to his face. Trelyn hates disturbances."

"Do you not think Lord Bryght capable of such deeds?"

Nerissa's expression cooled almost to petulance. "I think Bryght Malloren capable of anything, but if he is a hawk, I cannot imagine him hunting field mice." She eyed Portia thoughtfully. "If you think he tried to injure your brother, however, perhaps you want revenge."

The mood in the room had suddenly changed, and Portia didn't know how to take Nerissa anymore. "I couldn't get revenge against such a man," Portia said, "nor do I wish to. I just want to avoid him."

Nerissa's expression reminded Portia of a stalking cat. Not a wild animal, but a sleek house cat out after mice for sport. "Women generally find Lord Bryght very attractive," she purred.

"I do not deny that he is handsome."

"Attractive for more than his appearance. Rumor says he is a skillful lover."

Portia felt her face flame. "I know nothing of such things, Nerissa."

"My dear! I speak only of flirtation in your case. Has he not flirted with you? In the park, for example?"

Portia looked down at the unsteady cup in her hands. What was behind all this? "Yes, I suppose he has flirted with me," she muttered.

You are supple as a willow, graceful as a doe as you move in your desire.

"And you did not care for it?"

"Yes, my beautiful one. Dance for me, show me that you want the gift of Venus...."

"It made me most uncomfortable," Portia snapped.

She looked up and thought she saw a trace of pitying amusement in Nerissa's dark eyes. "Perhaps we should teach you to flirt, my dear," said her cousin. "Then you would not be uncomfortable. You could even turn the tables and upset
his
comfort."

Portia jerked so that some of her chocolate spilled. "Really, Nerissa. I want nothing further to do with the man!"

"Lud, how heated you are. I thought when he introduced you to me that he admired you. Do you not think he admires you?"

Portia felt exactly like a mouse being toyed with by a cat. How had she ever thought Nerissa charming? "No," she said firmly, putting down her cup and mopping at the spill with a serviette.

"He took you about the park on his arm and appeared very taken by your charms."

"It was merely a game to him."

"But games are serious business to Bryght Malloren, and he always wins...."

Portia lost control and leaped to her feet. "Please, Nerissa, don't tease me in this way! Lord Bryght was merely making fun of me, and I would much rather never see him again."

"Are you really such a coward?"

"No!"

"Well, then?" purred Nerissa. "I sense he is attracted and I never mistake such matters. If you were to play your cards aright, Portia, you could have him on his knees begging for your favors. And then, you could spurn him. Would that not be the most satisfying revenge?"

Portia felt almost sick at the thought. "No."

"Are you
afraid
of him? No harm will come to you under our protection. All I am suggesting is that if—when—he pays you attentions, you encourage him. Then, when he is entranced beyond reason, you show him you do not care at all."

"No!"

They stared at each other in a battle of wills, and then Nerissa shrugged and laughed. "Alas. It seems you have not the spirit for revenge. Many do not." In a dazzling switch she became the charmer again. "But you must come and stay with me, dearest cousin, until your brother returns. It will be such fun to introduce you to Society."

Portia was thrown off balance. She was no longer sure she wanted to live here, but having come how could she refuse? "You are kind, Nerissa, but I will be happy to live very quietly...."

Nerissa ignored her. "Perhaps we can find you a husband." She looked Portia over with a calculating eye, "In fact, you could do surprisingly well despite your lack of curves."

Portia was horribly reminded of Mirabelle. "I don't pretend to any beauty, Nerissa, and I am twenty-five years old and portionless."

"But you have attracted Bryght Malloren."

"I have
not!
I tell you, Nerissa, it was just some
game
he played in the park. Heaven alone knows why."

Nerissa hummed thoughtfully, her eyes stripping Portia down to her separate parts. "You look younger, being small. There is a lightness to your movements which is attractive. With a softer hairstyle and clever dressing, we need not despair."

Portia was close to despair. "I do not want to marry."

"Marriage is every woman's duty," said Nerissa piously. "Think of the benefits to your family."

Portia supposed that was true, but even if she could attract a suitable offer she had promised to take care of Overstead. "I am resigned to spinsterdom, Nerissa."