That was when Lady Abigail’s hands went to her hips. “I cannot wait to hear how you two know each other.” For some inexplicable reason the girl was jealous as well as resentful. “Or when you gave her leave to use your Christian name,Percy.”
“Because Portia… I mean Miss Kendall… is my superior at the newspaper.” Unaware that he had just announced Portia’s deepest, darkest secret to the sister of both her employer and a local magistrate who could shutEquitasdown, Percy stuttered some more. “I am her assistant.” Then, in case Portia had not been able to work out the scale of the monumental catastrophe she had just uncovered, he decided to introduce them. “Miss Portia Kendall, this is Lady Abigail Sloane—” His chest puffed with pride. “My fiancée.”
Dizziness swamped her. “Oh good grief—this cannot be happening.” Just when Portia thought that her situation couldn’t become more complicated, life went and poured paraffin over it and then set it ablaze.
“Youwork at the newspaper?” As she, at least, realized the gravity of the situation, Lady Abigail’s question came out in a squeak.
“She does more than work at it, Abigail, she is the second-in-command. And she’s a brilliant writer. You must have read her work as she has had many articles published inEquitasover the years. And she now writes the weekly opinion piece too. Although if you haven’t read her work, I’ll guarantee that you have heard it because she used to write many of theLeague of Reform’sspeeches too and…” Percy stopped gushing to stare at them. “What am I missing?”
“Miss Kendall is my chaperone, Percy.” There was vitriol in the younger woman’s tone now. “She is paid handsomely by my brother to ensure that I have nothing whatsoever to do with you.”
“Oh,” he managed to stutter in between gaping at Portia like a fish. “Oh.”
“And be in no doubt that she is about to inform on us to Leo just as soon as she can!”
That was indeed what Portia was paid to do. And doubtless what she should do under all normal circumstances—except these circumstances weren’t normal. Now that the cat was out of the bag regarding her involvement withEquitas, and now that she had developed some unexpected feelings for the duke—the magistrate—her situation was precarious indeed.
“Portia is not our enemy.” That came from Percy. “Youcantrust her to keep our secret, Abigail.” Then he turned to Portia. “That’s right, isn’t it?”
“I… er…” She had never felt so torn in her life. Between the duke who had apparently stolen her heart when she hadn’t been looking and the cause that had always been her first love. Now, whichever she chose would mean betraying the other.
She stared at the two star-crossed lovers again. Their hands entwined. Their eyes hopeful. Whoever had first said that ignorance was bliss knew what they were talking about. If she could turn back time, she would ignore the shadow in the garden and blithely carry on none the wiser because her other dilemma between her heart and her head was big enough already.
But in the end, prudence dictated that she had only one choice. “I am paid to be Lady Abigail’s chaperone between the hours of eight and six. What happens outside of those hours is not my concern.” Feeling utterly wretched, she spun on her heel and repeated the cowardly phrase that seemed to be her new mantra rather than face up to the consequences. “Let us pretend that this hasn’t happened and never speak of any of it again.”
Portia barely slept and spent most of the night trying to work through all her multiplying problems on paper. By the time she ventured downstairs early the next morning, she felt wrung out likean old dishrag but at least had a solution. One that she knew was ultimately for the best.
For the duke. For the cause. And forEquitas.
That it made her utterly miserable was by the by. She had made this bed, and she would lie in it. Then perhaps, in a month or two, with her life significantly less complicated and if she buried herself in her important work at the newspaper, he would feel less important to her.
His study door was ajar as she approached it, which was normally a sign that this unconventional, informal duke was happy for anyone to come in and bother him. But still she knocked. She needed to make this formal. It really was the only way she could get through it.
“Come in.” He sounded distracted and not quite himself, and she knew that was all her fault too.
“Your grace.” She breezed in and bobbed a curtsy. Determined to pretend that nothing monumental had shifted between them last night and to absolutely not speak of it, in the hope that he wouldn’t either. A hope that was quickly dashed when she witnessed the longing in his deep blue eyes.
“Portia…” He stood. Went to rush to her and then thought better of it. Uncomfortable, he shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot while his gaze searched for any clues that she was as unsettled by everything as he plainly was. “Can we talk? Only, I appreciate that you are a little bit overwhelmed by all the duke nonsense, and I wanted to reassure you that I don’t care that—”
She cut him off. She had to. All the longing and concern in his eyes was quickly smashing through her resolve. “I came to give you this, your grace.” She held out the letter that she had wept over while writing not an hour ago.
He stared at it in trepidation, clearly sensing he wasn’t going to like what it said. “What is this?”
“It is my resignation. If it is all right with you, I should like to leave straightaway.”
He swallowed and raked a frustrated hand through his hair. “Ofcourse it’s not bloody well all right with me!” Then he began to pace, his movements stiff and jerky as he did his best to keep all his emotions contained. “I don’t want you to go! Especially after last night.”
“But I must.” It was the only way to unweave some of the tangled web that she had created. “And most especially after last night.”
“Why? Because you want to get away from me or because you want to run away from us?”
“Both,” she admitted honestly, and to underscore it, she placed her letter of resignation on his desk. “There can never be an us. Even if we tried, I can assure you that it wouldn’t end well. Oil and water were never meant to mix, your grace.”
“It’s Leo, goddammit!” His angry eyes turned molten as he stalked toward her. “Is that really so hard to say when you’ve had your hands all over my body?”
“Your grace, I—”
“You kissed the man, not the duke, Portia.” His hands reached for her upper arms and she felt his touch everywhere. “Say my name. Make this personal—because itispersonal and you know it! Stop trying to put distance between us that doesn’t need to be there.”
