Harry made an exasperated sound. He turned to her. “Portia, don’t be obstinate. Of course we must marry.”
“There is no ‘of course’ about it,” she said. “I do not wish to marry you.”
That set tongues wagging. Many a Scot was grinning at Harry’s comeuppance, and he realized she was on her way to becoming a local hero.He knew they had not liked him because he was the “English” Chattan, but he thought them silly.
Monty jumped into the fray, taking charge. “You men, we are done here. We’ve found her. Thank you, thank you. A good day’s work,” he said. “Now off you go. There’s no more to see here.”
By the expressions on everyone’s faces, they disagreed with him. But he was waving his hands, moving them on and clearing a space around Portia, Harry, her mother, her sister, and Mr. Oliver Tolliver.
Portia said to her sister, “I’m sorry, Minnie, I would not wish to embarrass you with such a scandal.”
“I’m not worried for myself, dear—” her sister said.
“And there is no reason to do so,” Lady Maclean said, interrupting. “You shall marry Colonel Chattan.”
“I shall not,” Portia answered.
“Youshall.”
“Shallnot.”
“One moment,” Harry said, pulling Portia aside without waiting for permission.
Her expression was tight with anger. She crossed her arms as if not wanting to touch him at all.
Was this the woman who had so sweetly given all that she had to him?
Her attitude puzzled him.
He placed his hands on her shoulders. She flinched. He refused to back away.
“We have no choice,” he said. “If we do not marry, you are ruined, and I will not let that happen.”
She studied the ground. “I will not marry you.”
He leaned down, attempting to make her look at him. “Perhaps I’m not the man you would wish,” he said, “but we haven’t fared too badly these weeks together, have we?”
She didn’t answer. His sweet Portia had gone mute.
“And this is perfect,” he continued, realizing he was going to have to convince her to save herself. “You won’t ever have to worry about money again. I can take care of your mother and set a dowry for your sister.” He wondered why he hadn’t thought of doing that already. In fact, he was eager to make Portia’s life easier.
“You didn’t want to be my mistress, and I would never have expected that of you,” he hastened to add. “But as my wife, Portia, I can offer you so much. You have merely to ask and I will give.”
Still, she said nothing.
But he was warming to the idea. What had started off as a matter of honor was taking hold as a very sound, likable plan. He wanted to care for Portia. He wanted to keep her—forever, if need be.
“There is a good side to all this,” he said. “With you as my wife, I won’t have to worry about falling in love. You understand the curse. You know I could never love you. And we won’t be disagreeable the way our parents were. We’re friends, companions, and will be watchful so that we’ll never love each other. You will never be a danger to me.”
She raised her head then. Silent tears streamed down her face. “It’s too late, Harry. I already love you.”
Her declaration bowled him over.
He didn’t know what to answer.
She knew what he was thinking because she nodded her head as if confirming she understood the dangers. And with that, she left him, crossing to her sister’s horse. She put her foot in the stirrup and heaved herself up to sit behind Minnie. She said something to her sister, and Minnie kicked the horse in the direction of home. They rode away.
Portia did not look back.
