Harry started to follow them, but Miss Portia pulled back. “What game are you playing?” she demanded in a low voice.
“Game?” he asked innocently.
“You know Lady Emma has her interests set on you. Don’t use me to hold her off. You shall make my life miserable.”
“And how is that?”
“She’s my landlord’s daughter.”
If Miss Portia thought that news would bring him in line, she was wrong. “The landlord who hasn’t repaired the slates in the roof? Or applied a bit of paint to the wood of this house?” He demonstrated his meaning by placing a hand on the door frame. The wood was rotted. Harry frowned. “This place is about ready to fall down around your ears. I should talk to Montcrieffe. He shouldpayyou to live here.”
“Don’t you say a word to him.”Nowshe had a grip on his arm. “Don’t you dare. I like this house, and I’m thankful we have it.”
“That doesn’t mean he shouldn’t meet his obligations.”
She shook her head. “The world must be a very easy place for you. You have rank, you have privilege, you have money to burn on ridiculous notions—”
“What notions?” Harry asked, confused.
Miss Portia dismissed his question with a wave of her hand. “Whatever notion you wish. You are handsome, bold, and people come to you.”
“You think I’m handsome,” he murmured. “Kind of you to notice.”
“Ihaven’tnoticed,” she lashed out. “And can you not be serious?” She drew a breath as if to steady herself before admitting, “Life is not easy for those of us who are of the genteel poor. My mother insists upon appearances while I’m struggling to see if we can keep a roof over our heads. I amveryaware we can fall much further than our present circumstances. So will you kindly stop the pretense of being interested inmeand place your randy intentions upon Lady Emma, who will appreciate them.”
“Randy intentions?” Harry almost choked on his laughter, which earned him another glare from her. He held up his hands as if begging for quarter. “If you think my being pleasant is randy, let me assure you, Miss Maclean, I can be much randier.”
For a second, he feared he was going to be slapped. Her cheeks turned a becoming shade of red, and he enjoyed the moment. “I’d wager few people make you blush, Miss Maclean.”
“Few peoplewantto.” She spat the words out, and would have stormed into the house, but he caught her arm.
“The simple truth is,” he said, “I like you. You are rather easy to tease, but only because you want to pretend no one notices you. Well, you are out of luck with me.”
Her lips parted, her temper replaced by surprise.
He braced himself, curious as to how she would respond to his honest compliment.
She disappointed him. She ducked her head, pulled her arm from his hold, and dashed into the house.
Harry was puzzled. Women didn’t run from him. They flocked to him. They searched him out.
This one didn’t, and he didn’t understand why. There was something more between them, something he wasn’t understanding.
Did she not feel the pull between them? And if she did, why did she fight it? Why not be pleasant and encouraging to him? Every other woman was.
Removing his hat, Harry stepped into the house. Monty was standing at attention in the sitting room to the left. Lady Maclean was not present. Her daughter Miss Minerva was playing the hostess and arranging the chairs to Lady Emma’s comfort.
Miss Portia had not joined the others in the sitting room but was climbing the staircase off the hall as if to escape.
She was stopped by her mother.
Lady Maclean came to the top of the stairs, her blonde curls tucked into a lace cap, a cape of the same lace around her shoulders and her hands in fussy lace, fingerless mittens. Her daughter froze like a deer caught in a hunter’s sights. There were some whispers between them. Harry strained to hear what was being said, and then Lady Maclean saw him. A broad smile of pleasure crossed her face. “Why, Colonel Chattan, what a pleasure.” She started down the stairs and was such a force of nature, Miss Portia had no choice but to turn and go ahead of her.
Lady Maclean reached the bottom step. “I’m so happy you have called. I know my daughter Minerva is as well—”
She broke off with a frown of disapproval.
Jasper, that woebegone hound, had returnedfrom his nosey investigation of the barn. He was now on the hunt for Monty and had tracked him here. Sniffing the doorstep, he walked into the house, so enthusiastic his body seemed to be wagging his tail.
