Jo Beverley - [Malloren 02] (50 page)

"Because you are," he snapped. "Damn lucky. We're not children anymore. What do you think Bryght's going to do if he discovers you've been here?"

Portia hadn't really thought of that. "He'd never think there was anything untoward...." She wasn't sure what Bryght might think, but she held on to her resolve. "Fort, I need to get to Overstead. I must. But if I go on the stage, I'm afraid Bryght will overtake me before I get there."

"He'll overtake you sooner or later," he said grimly, "and there'll be hell to pay. By the sounds of it, you could go back now and he might never know."

"I'm not afraid of him," Portia lied, chin high. "I have to know the truth about Oliver."

Fort considered her a moment. "Very well, if you have to know the truth, we had best go to Rothgar Abbey not Overstead."

"The Abbey?"

"That's where he's been taken if he's been taken anywhere."

Portia considered, and realized that was true. "And you'll accompany me there?"

"I wouldn't let you go alone." He suddenly smiled, and looked like the Fort of old. "I've always suspected my fate is to be killed by a Malloren, so why fight it? And I, too, want to know what they've done with Oliver. I have little sympathy for the fool, but outright murder I can't accept."

"Nor can I," she said quietly, thinking bleakly of the long years ahead without Bryght. "If we're to do it, let's go."

"We can't leave now." Fort was looking out of the window. "It's started to rain and there are clouds over the moon."

"What?" Portia went over to look for herself, but saw that he was right. "I can't stay here all night!"

"You should have thought of that earlier. I always knew your crazy starts would lead to trouble. Of course," he said, "perhaps we can get you back into Malloren House..."

Portia actually considered it before saying, "No. But when will we be able to leave? We have to leave before morning."

Before Bryght realizes that I've gone.

He let the curtain drop. "Even the high nobility can't control the elements, Portia. If the clouds clear, we can travel. If they don't we have to wait for dawn, but we should be able to make some kind of start then. You'd best stay in here. I'll tell the footman to keep his mouth shut."

Portia sat down on a chaise feeling chilled and weary. As long as she was active she could put off thoughts, but now they surged back to torment her. If only she had been able to surrender to Bryght, surrender to her husband and the marriage bed. If only Oliver's disastrous affairs had not intervened.

But without Oliver's disastrous affairs, she doubted she would ever have even met a Malloren.

It was Oliver's debt that had taken them to Maidenhead. Doubtless that wild meeting had caused Bryght to approach her in the park. That and his gaming with Oliver.

What, she wondered, had caused him to game with Oliver? She knew him now and couldn't believe him a hawk. Perhaps it was just as Bryght said, and one gentleman could not refuse to game with another.

It would have ended there, however, if not for Oliver and Cuthbertson.

Fort came back into the room and Portia looked up at him. "You bid for me at Mirabelle's."

"Yes." He looked away, making the excuse of checking the fire.

"What would you have done if you'd purchased me?"

He turned to face her. "Probably more than Bryght Malloren did. I wouldn't have left you to Steenholt or D'Ebercall, but there was no getting out of there without a riot. I admit, I'd have probably just tried to make it quick for you. It wouldn't have occurred to me to trump up a wager like that. You might consider," he added rather severely, "that you owe the man this wedding night."

Portia ignored that. "Trump up a wager? What do you mean?"

"I gather Bryght forced that wager on the sugar planter. The man's been heard to mutter that it was underhanded, but at least he doesn't suspect that you were not what you appeared."

The wager that saved her had been Bryght's inspiration?

"I gather it was a virtuoso performance," Fort said. "Are you sure you don't want to go back and enjoy even more of the same?" Portia sensed that he really wanted her to. Perhaps it was just to save his own skin, but perhaps it was to save hers.

"I can't," she said.

"Very well," he said with a sigh. "Why don't you lie on the chaise and rest. I'll call you as soon as it becomes possible to travel."

He left her alone, and despite her tangled thoughts Portia even managed to doze. Fort woke her to say they could set out. "The visibility's not perfect, but the moon is clear. We can go, if we go slowly, and I think we'd be better on our way."

Portia agreed, shivering at being woken in the chill morning hours. Shivering perhaps with fear. She was beginning to truly dread a meeting with her husband and, as Fort said, it could not be put off forever.

Like death, it must be faced one day.

Her heart said Bryght would never hurt her. But if she thought him capable of killing Oliver, she had to think him capable of hurting her.

"What time is it?" she asked, wrapping her cloak around her.

"Nearly four. We're going to steal out to the mews like robbers." He flashed her an encouraging grin. "Lord, this reminds me of some of our youthful adventures."

She grinned back for him, but she feared it was a feeble effort. "How far is it?" she whispered as they crossed the hall. "How long will it take?"

"It's about thirty miles to the Abbey, so I'd say five to six hours if the roads are fair."

"So we might be there by nine? What will we do when we arrive?"

"Demand admittance. I am a connection, and an earl."

"But..."

"Shhhh."

They tiptoed through the kitchen, by the lowly kitchen servants sleeping on mats near the fire, then he eased open a door into the garden. It did remind Portia poignantly of some of their childhood escapades. How innocent they had been then.

Even though the moon was clear, the garden seemed bleak and dark. Portia shivered in the chill air. "I don't think humans are supposed to be about at this time of night," she whispered.

"If we were to drive by St. James, you'd find the place very much awake. Some people scarce see daylight at this time of year."

"Which is proof of the rottenness of London."

The coach was waiting. They climbed in and the coachman set the four horses into motion.

Fort looked at Portia with a puzzled frown. "I'm at a loss as to why Bryght Malloren was willing to marry you. He's just the sort to spend the night gaming, whereas you think that despicable. You have nothing in common."

"I know that," said Portia, hands gripped tight. "I suppose he felt obliged to."

"Devil a bit. That business at Mirabelle's made marriage less likely not more."

"Probably. I was thinking of Lady Willoughby's."

"Ah, yes. But there was nothing to that really until I decided to force his hand."

She looked at him. "Do you not regret that now?"

"No. It gets better and better."

Portia turned to look out of the window. She knew this journey was taking her straight to disaster, but she had never had any other choice.

Chapter 24

Like most coach journeys it was tedious and gave too much time to think. Portia sat looking out at the moon-silvered landscape wondering when Bryght would realize she was missing, and what he would do.

Any and all prospects terrified her.

The best possibility was that he might chase after her to Overstead, which would give them plenty of time to investigate matters at the Abbey. If everything turned out to be innocent, she would simply await her fate.

If not, and if Oliver was still alive, she would have to rescue him and take him to safety. But where? Could she hide from Bryght if he chose to seek her?

He would have to seek her. What would the world say if his possibly-mistreated bride disappeared within hours of the ceremony?

Perhaps the best hope was that he would never want to see her again. Then she could return to Overstead and look after it for Oliver. If Bryght didn't tell the world their marriage was an empty shell, she wouldn't, and their living apart might not surprise the cynical world of the aristocracy.

Unless he wanted children.

Unless she was carrying his child.

She imagined bearing a child only to have it torn from her and taken to be raised by its father. The law would allow it, and perhaps Bryght would think it a just revenge. If she were pregnant, perhaps she would flee the country...

"What's the matter?" Fort said. "It's too late for second thoughts now."

"I know. It's other thoughts that torment me."

"Of Bryght Malloren? You're not as cool to him as you try to pretend, are you?"

She turned to him. "Would you be willing to kiss me?"

In the shadowy coach she could not see his expression, but she sensed wariness. "Why?"

"Perhaps I need comfort."

"Then you should have stayed with your husband."

"Even if he has killed my brother?"

After a moment, he said, "You're not seeking comfort."

"No," she sighed, "not exactly. I need to know.... Bryght is the only man who has really kissed me. I need to know."

After a moment he laughed. "Well, I'm likely to get skewered for what they think I've done, so why not?" He took her hand, tugged her against him, cradled her head and kissed her.

It was the same business of lips and hot breath, and it was not unpleasant. It was Fort, and Portia liked Fort. But there was something missing, the something that excited her senses and drove her wild. She wouldn't be carried beyond wisdom by this.

When he tilted her further back and his hand traveled to cover her breast, she broke free. "No, Fort."

His hand moved over her breast in gentle suggestion. "Perhaps I could persuade you..."

"No," she said again, firmly but calmly, though her heart was speeding.

Still he didn't let her go. "It would quite please me to cuckold a Malloren. Especially if I were the first."

Portia shuddered and pushed at him. "Stop it, Fort. I won't be part of your feud."

"You already are. Has he had you yet?"

Portia realized she'd leapt into a deeper pit than she'd imagined. "That's none of your business. Think what you're doing."

He jerked as if she'd hit him, but his hand still rested on her bodice. She was grateful it was high and modest, but still felt soiled.

"I'm causing problems for the Mallorens. My life's cause."

"Why?" she demanded.

"Because they killed my father."

Portia gently removed his hand from her bodice. "What happened?"

She thought he wouldn't speak, but then he said, "He wasn't entirely sane. He was brilliant, but unbalanced. It was through the Mallorens that I discovered what was wrong.... When Cynric Malloren decided he wanted to marry Chastity, it became a cause for Rothgar, and nothing and no one was allowed to stand in his way."

"Bryght said that your father created that scandal over Chastity."

"That's true. But there was no need to destroy Father. And," he added bleakly, "there was no need to make me their tool."

Portia took his hand and looked him in the eye. "What happened, Fort? I heard that your father died of a seizure."

"It was cleverly hushed up. He died of a pistol ball while trying to kill the king's mother. I fired the pistol..." He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the squabs. "He was raving by then, driven mad by Rothgar, and by the destruction of his plans. I couldn't let him kill Princess Augusta. She was innocent, and it would have ruined the family entirely...."

Portia squeezed his hand. "You can't entirely blame the Mallorens."

He opened his eyes then. "I can blame them enough. And I rather begrudge you to Bryght. I gather my kisses don't have the potency of his."

"Bryght has never been intent on rape."